


Jailbird

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Belting, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “Dandelion, Dandelion,” he murmured, “whatever am I going to do with you?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624297
Comments: 8
Kudos: 326





	Jailbird

“Geralt!” Dandelion looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his friend. He bounced forward, resting his hands on the bars of his cell. “I am so happy to see you again, my friend!”

“Uh-huh,” Geralt said with a disapproving shake of his head. “You’re just happy because you think I’m going to bail you out.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to bail me out?”

The Witcher crossed his arms. Of course, he’d get him out - he’d already paid the bail, as it were - but he was going to make him squirm a bit first.

“Geralt!” the poet cried, slipping one hand through the bars to grab his shirt. Cornflower blue eyes widened with fear as he peered up at him. His lips trembled. “You can’t leave me here, Geralt! The soldiers have been watching me - calling me pretty - and you wouldn’t believe how uncomfortable it makes me. I know what they want, and so do you, and you can’t possibly intend to leave me to that, could you Geralt?”

Suddenly his joke wasn’t funny anymore. “Dandelion, you fool poet, I’m the only one who’s permitted to push you around, you ought to know that by now.” He pulled the key from his pocket and rattled it at him. Dandelion’s face lit up.

“You have come to save me!”

He unlocked the cell door and Dandelion wasted no time in hurrying out, pulling Geralt into a warm embrace, stuttering over his thanks.

“Come now, Dandelion, I’ve got your lute as well.”

Geralt led the poet from the jail, making a point to keep himself as a physical barrier between his friend and the jailor, who was staring after them with a look that made even Geralt uncomfortable.

They walked out of the jail into the warm sun, Dandelion clutching his returned instrument to his chest and seeming as happy as ever. “Where to now, Geralt?”

“I have a contract in the next town.”

“Well, then, I’ll come with you! Perhaps it will be worthy of a ballad!”

He’d already intended on that, whether the poet wanted it or not. He wasn’t leaving him where people might take advantage of him once the Witcher left.

Dandelion’s horse was tied in front of the jail, next to Roach, and they both mounted, riding off toward the trail. “What kind of contract is it?” the poet asked cheerfully, as though he’d already forgotten about the danger he had just escaped.

“Bruxa.”

Dandelion shivered. “Horrible creatures,” he complained. “You know, on second thought, perhaps I ought to stay-”

“No.”

Dandelion seemed put out and his shoulders slumped. “Are you upset with me, Geralt?”

“You could have been injured Dandelion,” he scolded, flicking his eyes sideways to his companion.

The troubadour looked away and fell uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, he remained silent - barely even touching his lute - until they’d made camp. Even as Geralt started a fire for warmth and offered him some of the Witcher’s dried rations, he said nothing.

Finally, it seemed the silence had gotten to him. “Geralt, I can tell you’re upset.”

“Dandelion, go to bed.”

“I think we should talk about this, you know.”

The Witcher poked at the fire with a stick. “You should know that if you keep talking, I’m liable take my belt to your arse.”

“I said I’m terribly sorry-”

Geralt stood, stepping past Dandelion, dragging his hand over the bard’s shoulder. “Up.”

“Geralt!” he whined, but didn’t protest, pushing himself to his feet and following after the Witcher.

 _I’m going to knock some sense into the damn poet_ , he decided, _perhaps then he won’t go getting himself arrested and scaring me again_.

“Strip.”

Dandelion did so without hesitation, another thing that made the hurt and anger in the pity of Geralt’s stomach grow. The fool trusted him, inexplicably, and he’d nearly failed to protect him.

“Stand there, and face away from me.”

“Geralt-”

“Hush now, Dandelion,” he said, not unkindly, pulling off his belt. Dandelion laced his fingers behind his neck, and Geralt could imagine how he must have squeezed his eyes shut.

The first strike landed over his thighs, and Dandelion flinched. Geralt winced at the angry red line that marred his pale flesh, but chose to ignore the pang of guilt that it caused. It wouldn’t be the last.

He struck him in rapid succession, not using his full strength, just enough to turn the skin red. Enough that Dandelion would still feel it for a few days if Geralt didn’t take pity on him and give him a soothing balm.

The skin from his knees to his buttocks was soon bright red, the poet whining and yelping softly with every strike, his shoulders shaking.

“Geralt-” Dandelion rasped. “I’m going to fall over.”

That was where he usually stopped when he knew Dandelion had enough. Instead Geralt grit his teeth, remembering the leering look the jailor had thrown toward Dandelion, and said, “Lean on the tree.”

Dandelion let out a whine but did as he was told, gripping the tree beside him. Geralt struck him twice more, across the middle of his ass, and then stopped. He helped Dandelion to step back into his pants, then helped him to limp back to the fire, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. Then he crouched by the fire again, unable to look at his sniffling friend.

Guilt churned in his stomach, part of it due to what he had just done, but most of it due to the thought that he could have been too late. He’d stumbled across Dandelion completely by accident - what if he hadn’t?

“Must you fuck everything that moves Dandelion?” the Witcher asked softly. “Is it too much to ask that you consider the consequences a bit before tumbling into a married person’s bed?” Dandelion opened his mouth, but Geralt continued, “What if I hadn’t been here? Hmm? How many times would those guards have fucked you before they’d let you go?”

“Geralt-“ He was scaring Dandelion, but he needed to get his point across.

“Come now, hazard a guess. Because I think they’d have kept you there a very long time, Dandelion. And I’m not convinced they’d have let you leave alive when they were done with you. They’d have hung you from the gallows, bloody and-”

“Geralt!” 

He’d gone too far, Dandelion’s eyes were wide with fear and he stared at Geralt with horror. The Witcher sighed, dropping to sit on his butt. “Come here, poet.”

The simple invitation was all it took for the poet to curl into his side, laying his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “Dandelion, Dandelion,” he murmured, “whatever am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt,” Dandelion whispered.

Geralt stroked his hair, curling his fingers through the blonde locks. “I know, Dandelion,” he murmured. “I know.”


End file.
